Crushed Flowers in the Basement
by Valie
Summary: A look at Miss Honey's nightmare childhood with her aunt Trunchbull. What led her to run away from home when she was sixteen? -Dark themes- -Femslash- -Rape warning-


**A/N: **Written for Livejournal's Springkink comm. Now I am aware that technically, this isn't exactly an incest fic, since Trunchbull is Jen's mother's **step**sister. But since they are aunt and niece, nonetheless, I view it as a form of incest, whether they're blood relatives or not. There's no blatant sexual descriptions of the rape in this fic, so don't be too squicky to run away. I've loved this movie and book since I was little and I've always wondered if something like this may have happened. So yeah, that's why I jumped on the chance to do this prompt when I saw it.

**Extra notes: **Trunchbull = Agatha Trunchbull (full name), 'Agnes' (nickname) / Miss Honey = Jennifer Honey (full name), Jen (nickname I gave her) [just to clear things up]

**Prompt:** _Matilda, Miss Honey/Trunchbull: slavery/abuse -- it got harder and harder to remember a time when she was ever happy_

**Pairing:** Miss Honey/Trunchbull

**Word count:** 1,464

**Warnings:** Femslash, dark!fic, incest, non-con, rape, underage, physical abuse, mental abuse, implied torture, heavy angst.

**---**

**Crushed Flowers in the Basement**

For a moment, when she had been very young, Miss Honey had been happy. Youthful innocence and childish ambitions, nothing more, nothing less. Jennifer's mother and father were alive and well, happy to see their daughter grow. Her small little hands in theirs as they swung her between them, laughing. It was a perfect family - nothing could ever go wrong for them.

Then Jen's mother died. Her life cut short, marring the perfect life the little family had lived. Father and daughter were heartbroken, distraught to find themselves in such a predicament. In the wake of her mother's death, Jennifer and her father were broken, unable to fend for themselves, much less each other. The grief and pain was too deep and heavy. Rising from bed in the morning required a great amount of energy. Her father asked his late wife's stepsister to move in and help them with the basics until they gathered themselves.

It was to be the end of them both. As a crow signified death, so did Agatha Trunchbull signify misery.

At eight, Jennifer did not quite understand the things she was feeling with her mother's death, but she did understand the unease in her stomach that Agatha brought about. Her father would not hear her worry, his grief slowly becoming his tomb. She was often left alone in the company of the statuesque woman, wondering what might happen if she did something bad. Jennifer was an obedient child, but she constantly fearful of doing wrong around her auntie. The woman scared her even if she hadn't done anything to hurt her or purposely scare her. Yet the woman's mere glare was intimidating, forget her girth and size.

Father died. Either his grief had been too daunting or other means had intervened to end his life prematurely. Jennifer was young, but not dumb. She knew Agatha had something to do with her father's untimely death. With him gone, they were the only heirs left to Magnus' fortunes, which was vast due to his ingenuity and luck with money. It made Jennifer uncomfortable to realize that knowledge. It wouldn't take much for Agatha to rid herself of her if the woman wanted.

Except, Agatha had other plans for her niece.

The years between her father's death and the age of fourteen were fraught with many difficulties. Depression, school, her first period, her budding interest in boys... Normal things that children her age went through. Except, most children didn't have the added pressure of living with Agatha. Jennifer was forced to do all the household chores, from sweeping the floors to washing the windows to doing small repairs around the house. Cooking was another task that she, and she alone, had to do. She studied cookbooks as if they were bibles. Aunt Trunchbull was a strict and demanding person who loved her food as much as she loved her weights. If the food didn't pass her taste test, it wound up on the floor, the whole pot, and Jennifer was beaten with the wooden cooking spoon until her hands and arms were covered with red, angry welts.

That was only the more mild abuse she received.

Anytime she did something that Agatha didn't approve of, whether it was how she cleaned or fixed something to how she sat at the kitchen table, Jennifer was sure to receive a punishment of some sort. Most times it was a beating. Jen learned quickly how to hide wounds and clean and tend cuts and bruises. Very rarely did Agatha do other forms of punishments, like confine her to the basement for several days. She needed the girl to keep the house in order after all.

Secretly, Jen preferred to be locked in the basement then the beatings when it was time for a punishment. Her life became filled with the need for stealth, because the less noise she made and the less she was seen, the less likely Agatha was to make her do something or hurt her.

Then she became fourteen and it changed.

The beatings decreased, though the severity remained the same. Agatha suddenly did more of the household chores. Jen was relieved but too worried as to what had spurned the changes to actually enjoy it. That familiar unease from her eight year old self twisted itself into knots so tightly, she spent a lot of time running to the bathroom to vomit. Except, nothing happened. Life actually seemed to ease and be calmer for that one year. Several days after Jennifer's fifteen birthday, she was awoken by a hand clamped over her mouth. Agatha glowered at her silently, not speaking at all as she picked up the girl and flung her over her shoulder as if she was nothing more then a towel. Jennifer was carried to the room that had once been her parents but had long since been taken over by her aunt. The room was strictly off limits to Jen at all times. A horrible sense of dread filled her as she was thrown to the bed.

Large hands groped at her small frame. At fifteen, she had filled out most of her curves, though it was clear that should would never be as large as her aunt. She was thin, but her body was strong thanks to the constant beatings and physical labor that came with cleaning behind and under furniture, as well as collecting her aunt's various weights that had been left strewn about the house. Despite that, she was entirely unable to defend herself from her aunt as the woman pulled at her clothing, touching greedily at soft skin. Jennifer was horrified as she realized what was happening but the greater fear she had garnered over the years of her aunt kept her from screaming out loud. She cried though, because it was the only thing her aunt couldn't take from her.

Hard, callous fingers, cold and uncaring, touched her bare breasts. Disgust bubbled in the young woman as Agatha's mouth touched her skin. There was nothing pleasurable about the way the woman bit and licked her. Jennifer squirmed, wanting to get away before this went too far, but she was trapped by the large bulk of her aunt. Fingers at her hips, grabbing her pajama pants and panties in meaty hands, ripping them as she pulled them off of Jennifer. Embarrassed and deathly afraid of what was coming, what she didn't want to come, Jen tried to remember a happier moment in her life. But it had been so long since she was happy, the memories were fragmented and fuzzy. Breath on her naked thighs, she quickly reached out in her mind, trying to pull together the good moments. Her sanity depended on them.

Her parents held her hands as they walked through a field, stopping every so often to swing the little girl between them. The memory played out before Jennifer as if it were happening at that exact moment. Smiling faces, laughed as they played. They smiled for the moment. A long life full of possibilities stretched out before them as they continued on through their joyful walk. No troubles, no death, no abuse, no horror and terror lingered in their bright future. Jennifer held onto the memory as long as she could. When her breath began to quicken, her body twitching and rocking against her will, Jennifer held tighter to the memory. Memorizing her parents faces in their joy. Faces she was sure she had forgotten until that moment. Her body burned as her mouth fell open, releasing sounds that she couldn't stop. The memory began to break, fading at the edges, the closer she came to her orgasm. Tearful and desperate, she focused everything into watching her parents laugh at her childish antics.

When she came, she screamed, losing sight of the memory as reality began ramming its ugly head into her stomach.

After that night, she plotted a means to escape. It took months to figure out what she would do, where she would go, and how she would get by. Another several months past before she finally stopped over thinking it and just decided to make her break for it. The sexual abuse had physically and mentally drained her. She felt herself becoming unstable as her aunt moved onto using 'things' on her. Jennifer's will was too strong to let herself succumb to the deep depression she had sank into. She waited for a night she knew her aunt wouldn't abduct her from her bed and made her break for freedom, bidding her family's home a tearful goodbye. Nothing but the clothes on her back as she ran from the place that had become a nightmare to her.

She promised herself she would never go back there.

***End* **


End file.
